Something Blue
by danger.angel
Summary: After the Second War, a wedding of political importance is about to take place. Of course, it doesn't go as anyone planned. AJM
1. In Which Alicia Gives the Backstory

**Something Blue**

**1. In Which Alicia Gives the Backstory**

Alicia Spinnet did one more turn, checking the back of her dress in the mirror. Her reflection glared back her, unimpressed. The colour of the dress was an awful aquamarine, no friend to her tanned skin. The top layer was a light sheer fabric, made from spider silk. The bottom was stiff and opalescent, made from artificial fibres. The designer was a new up and coming witch from Paris. She'd risen to the top not because of her talent but because her designs were a blend of Muggle and Wizarding traditions. Three years after the demise of Voldemort the theme of the Wizarding World was hybridization. Alicia was all for the attempt to bring Muggle culture into the Wizarding World—she'd been quite pleased when she'd discovered jeans—but this was bordering on the ridiculous.

"I look like something from the bottom of the bloody sea!" her reflection said, huffing. "It's like I'm the daughter of a pearl and seaweed!" Alicia had read up on the theory behind magic mirrors. They communicated the self's innermost opinions on the image presented to them. No one knew how they were made, but they were rumours that Veritaserum was used in the process.

Alicia sighed, facing the mirror. There was nothing to be done. She had to go downstairs and face a crowd of two hundred or so people, many of which were some of the most important people in Wizarding Britain, looking her worst. She was going to kill Angelina at the reception. Maybe if this had been a small ceremony with only a private photographer in attendance she would have been more forgiving. She would have accepted her role as ill-dressed matron of honour and would have laughed whenever the photos were brought out. However, this was one of the most important weddings in British Wizarding history. Photos of her would forever be appearing in various books, haunting her well beyond the grave.

Grudgingly, Alicia had to admit that it wasn't all Angelina's fault. As soon as her engagement had been announced the press and Ministry officials had descended, all with their own agendas. The Ministry had also sent a liaison, a short plump witch in her late forties with curling blonde hair, who bore a strong resemblance to Dolores Umbridge. Like the Ministry officials, she was vague when she was not smiling or flattering Angelina and her family and friends. After an hour it became clear why the Ministry had sent her. A marriage between two high profile Quidditch players, one Gryffindor, the other Slytherin, would not simply be a marriage, but a political statement; a true hybridization. It had to be handled delicately. Angelina had begrudgingly handed over control of her wedding to the Ministry, only allowed to choose her wedding dress, and even that decision had to be approved by the Ministry.

Alicia was glad she hadn't followed in Angelina's footsteps and become the Quidditch star she'd wanted to be at sixteen. After the Ministry had finally admitted the Dark Lord's return in seventh year, she'd realized there were far more important things in life than a crowd shouting her name and using her as a means to propel their fantasies. She'd settled for a quiet life as a clerk in the Magical Law Enforcement. She might have been a small bolt in the machine of the law, but she consoled herself with the thought that without her the system wouldn't function at all. She was much better suited to this life. She wanted to be no one's hero nor did she want to be embroiled in politics. Angelina was better suited for the life of a celebrity and reluctant political symbol. She was much stronger.

After leaving Hogwarts, Angelina played Quidditch for a year and had made it clear to the world that she was meant to be a star. Her career came to a halt when the war began to consume Wizarding Britain and all sporting events were suspended. With time to spare and a need to fight, Angelina joined the regrouped Dumbledore's Army to help the Aurors and Order of the Phoenix. They patrolled neighbourhoods and sometimes went on surveillance and reconnaissance missions. During a routine patrol through Hogsmeade one night Angelina, Zacahrias Smith, and Katie Bell had come upon a group of twelve Death Eaters planning a second invasion of Hogwarts. There was something important within the castle the Dark Lord needed. It was a miracle all three had made it out of the fight alive and with all their limbs. For their courage, they'd received a Guild of Morgana.

Angelina's place in posterity had been solidified, but she'd wanted to be a part of Quidditch history as well. She returned to the pitch in perfect form a year after the war's end, as a chaser for the Chudley Cannons. No one had been more surprised than the team's fans when, finally, after so many years, they'd taken the League Cup.

Naturally beautiful and charismatic and a part of a winning team, Angelina became a certified celebrity. There were magazine covers and press events. She was invited to the balls and parties hosted by important people all over the world. She had the life that so many coveted. Alicia and everyone else had expected her to follow the script. She'd continue to play Quidditch, her star would rise, and she'd marry another Quidditch player as famous as herself. If that didn't happen then she'd marry someone outside the sport with a status equal to her own.

She had followed the script to some degree, she'd diverted in becoming engaged to Solan Montague, chaser for the Falmouth Falcons. He'd had no trouble fitting in with his teammates, already familiar with their rough style of playing. During the season Solan had done more than break a few heads. No Falcons game had been complete until two players from the opposing team had been taken to the hospital.

After years of separation, Solan and Angelina met again at the League Cup. It had been had an exciting game that had lasted nine hours. No player had left the pitch uninjured or high on energy potions. During the game, Alicia had seen a side of Angelina that was unlike the Gryffindor she'd known in school. With the Falcons playing their dirtiest, she'd decided to use their tricks against them and the rest of the team followed suit. There had been blurtings, blatchings, and blaggings and flacking and so on. Unlike the Falcons, who were mostly large and heavy players, the Cannons were made up of lithe players, who moved too quickly to be noticed. The Cannons were fouled only three times.

As the game progressed into the forth hour, it became clear that most of the energy and passion of the game was concentrated between Solan and Angelina. They circled one another when they weren't crashing into each other or stealing the quaffle. It was the same energy that had been present during the final Gryffindor/Slytherin match in seventh year. Once again, the audience was mesmerized.

The first sign of what was to come occurred at the end of the match. When Solan and Angelina shook hands, he'd held hers tightly for a long moment and gave her a genuine smile. "Bloody scariest thing I'd ever seen," was what Angelina had had to say about that smile. Unnerved by his behaviour she'd sought Solan out at the Quidditch Ball a few evenings later, as he knew she would. And the rest was going to be history. History because of the Second War.

Despite all the warnings of the Sorting Hat, the four Houses of Hogwarts had not come together during the war to set an example for the rest of Wizarding Britain. It was difficult to rebuild a broken state when one quarter of the population was distrusted and believed themselves, and rightly so, to be oppressed. The philosophers, the Unspeakables working deep in the Ministry, and anyone who took a moment to think, knew that the longer Wizarding Britain remained divided and the Slytherins remained outcasts the greater chance a new uprising would take place.

Angelina and Solan's marriage would be a step in the right direction, towards unity. Whether they wanted it or not they had become political figures. Despite their gross incompetence at times, Alicia agreed with the Ministry. The couple could not be left to do as they pleased, not when the stakes were so high. Alicia was tired of the fighting, tired of feeling as if the present was an interim between the last war and a coming one. It was why she hadn't said anything when Angelina had told her she was seeing Solan. She'd wanted to but her higher logical mind had told her not to. It knew an opportunity when it saw one.

Alicia sighed once more and tore herself from the mirror. She glanced at the clock. She had to be downstairs in five minutes with the other members of the wedding party. She'd stayed back because Angelina had seemed a little distressed. They'd talked for a bit and Angelina had assured her she was fine before disappearing in the bride's room. Alicia had stayed in the anteroom, listening to Angelina pace, just in case she was needed.

Listening attentively, Alicia didn't hear the rustle of heavy fabric or Angelina occasionally muttering to herself as she had earlier. She didn't hear anything from the next room, in fact.

"Angie, are you alright in there? I've got to get downstairs soon," she said, approaching the door of the bride's room.

Flobberworms were in Alicia's belly, curling around her stomach the way they had before she'd been knocked unconscious by a bludger fourth year.

She pushed the door open, anticipating the worst. Angelina lying on the bed, deathly still. The Ministry had warned that there were those who didn't want the wedding to take place and would do what they had to to see to that. Alicia shuddered slightly, walking into the circular room. She looked around quickly and did so again to be sure her eyes weren't deceiving her.

The room was empty. The window was open.


	2. Missing

**2. Missing**

Cassius Warrington adjusted his cuffs one more time, admiring the diamond cufflinks Solan had gifted to him the night before at the Groom's Feast. He hoped one day he'd be able to return the favour by making Solan his best man and giving him a gift equal in thought and worth. If anyone had told him this was how his future would have turned out he would've said they were barking mad. Him, best man at Solan's wedding to a Gryffindor. It would've been too absurd to further think about.

He'd always known Solan would become a famous Quidditch player. At the age of six, Solan watched his first match between the Falmouth Falcons and Holyhead Harpies. He'd been mesmerized by the Falcons and their display of brute strength and unforgiving attitude. Solan had been a sickly and timid child, picked on and shunned by other children. He yearned to be strong, intimidating, and free from scorn like his heroes. The day after the game Solan got on his starter broom, pushing away his fear of heights, and refused to come off it until his father threatened to lock him in his room for the rest of the night.

At seven, Solan had the discipline and foresight to begin a regiment that would ensure he would make his house's team when he entered Hogwarts. He exercised regularly with the fervour of the religiously fanatic and abstained from sweets. By the time Solan got his Hogwarts letter he had become the stoic, stony-faced taskmaster he was to this day. When he became Quidditch captain the Slytherin team had been both proud and apprehensive. Solan was the best player, but if he was to be their example they knew the regiments Marcus Flint had put them through would be nothing in comparison to Solan's.

The first practice they hadn't touched their brooms. Solan made them run around the pitch fifty times and then led them through a series of exercises. At the end of practice the team collapsed in a heap, sweaty and aching. Solan moved around their limp bodies, disgusted.

"I see over the holidays you all pissed your time away not thinking about the fact that we haven't won the cup in five years," he said. "If we don't get the House Cup this year, you'll have nobody to blame but yourselves."

He was a born leader. The team was angry with him for weeks, but the results couldn't be denied. By the first match, the team was better disciplined, focused and thus faster and stronger. By second term, most of the player's daily happiness depended on a nod or any other sign that Montague approved of them.

With the Slytherin Quidditch team fawning over him, the rest of Slytherin followed suit. Solan never wanted for any type of companionship. Unlike Marcus, Solan was the model of a dashing tragic hero: dark hair and beautiful mysterious blue eyes. Stories were made up about him because his face revealed nothing. There was a saying among the Slytherin that every time Solan refused someone, one more person fell in love with him and ten more became obsessed. Unfortunately for them, the only person Solan was interested in was Angelina Johnson. He watched her, trying to read her like one of his textbooks, trying to find her ultimate meaning and use.

Watching Solan watch Angelina, Cassius recognized the flickers of emotions that crossed his face. He was fascinated by her, but confused as well.

"She's unpredictable," Solan told him. "She barely has any self-control. At times she may, but that seems to be more a mood than anything else. It might be an advantage during a match."

"You were watching her because of Quidditch, then? Not because you wanted to take her behind one of the greenhouses and hear how she roars?"

There was a hint of a blush on Solan's cheeks. "Stop being a prat," he replied. "Why would I fraternize in any capacity with her? She's the enemy."

Cassius shrugged. "She purrs," he said softly, as if the words were an afterthought.

Solan's reaction was immediate. His cheeks darkened and his posture became rigid. A snake about to strike.

He watched her even more after their conversation.

Slytherin lost the Quidditch Cup. Cassius had trouble believing it even after he'd left Hogwarts. How was it possible they'd been beaten by a team with only three worthy players? That day it had truly seemed as if God himself had something to do with their loss. It seemed possible God or whatever being had created the universe, hated Slytherins.

Solan refused to believe such nonsense. Disappointed wasn't an accurate word to describe how he felt. He didn't shout at them like Marcus had the last year. Cassius and the rest of the team wished he had. Solan's quiet tone deepened their shame and said the things he would not say.

"You did well."

But not well enough.

"We had a good year."

It would have been better if we'd won.

"You should be proud of yourselves. I'm proud of you. You've improved this year."

You've become better and improved losers this year.

With the wound of the loss of the Quidditch Cup still smarting, the incident between Solan and the Weasley Twins angered every Slytherin. The rift between Gryffindor and Slytherin had been long noticeable, but it had never threatened to descend into a brawl. The last few weeks of the school year was rife with such tension that Cassius wanted nothing more than to leave. He was afraid. When his mind would wander he thought of the huddled groups of Slytherins speaking in hushed tones, plotting and planning. The idea of Gryffindors being hexed and cursed appealed to his need for revenge, but the cost of the retaliation set his teeth on edge. Dolores Umbridge was gone and with Dumbledore as headmaster once again Slytherins attacking other students, especially Gryffindors, would not be tolerated. With the Ministry finally declaring the Dark Lord resurrected it wouldn't do for any Slytherin to act out of line.

Cassius breathed a sigh of relief after he'd left Hogwarts and vowed never to go back. If he could've had his way he would've left Britain in favour of his family's vacation home in Australia. The war had only begun and already he felt like an old man, his bones rattling with every step. The Ministry might have coined the term the Second War for the history books, but Cassius knew better. The last war had never ended, only paused. He'd been fighting it ever since he'd been sorted.

Unlike Cassius who wanted to escape from Britain, Solan refuse to leave, believing he still had a chance of joining the Quidditch League. Suffering from frequent headaches, bouts of dizziness and confusion he'd pushed himself harder than before. Unable to work, he'd put all his energy into further developing his body and his Quidditch skills. After a year, when the healers pronounced him completely recovered and Solan was ready to try out for teams, the Ministry proclaimed the suspension of all sporting events.

Solan was angry and there had been talk of giving up and settling into a job at the Ministry, but that had only lasted a day and a half. Solan had worked too long and too hard to let something as stupid as a war keep him from his dreams. Every afternoon after he finished his work as a private tutor, he went out to the country to practice for future Quidditch tryouts.

Two years and Cassius had never once heard his friend complain or falter in his resolution. When the war was declared over Solan had smiled slightly, his steel blue eyes soft.

Solan had been ecstatic when the Falcons chose him to be a starting chaser. He'd accepted the offer because of the influence the team had had on his life and also because he liked their style of play. Solan was a Quidditch traditionalist, who liked to listen to stories of the old matches where players were not allowed protective gear and no player would escape from a match unharmed. A hundred years earlier, there had hardly been any rules about what was allowed during a game. Back then every team did anything to win.

It wasn't until after Solan's engagement had been announced that Cassius realized his best mate approached life the same way he approached Quidditch. He set a goal and then worked hard and did any and everything to achieve it. Solan did nothing superfluously or by accident. He hadn't fallen in love with Angelina the way people liked to tell it. The smile after the League game had been a means to an end. Most people thought it was Solan's way of telling Angelina he finally respected her, but most people didn't know Solan.

Crafty bastard. And to think Angelina had fallen for him. He was her opposite in every way. While she flew by the seat of her robes and took pride in her improvisation skills, Solan would never take one step without reason or considering several alternatives. They complimented each other.

Cassius grinned, glancing at the cufflinks. When the light from the stained glass windows hit them a dance of colours came about that would've made the oldest child clap his hands in delight. The diamonds were the best in the world, handcrafted by a fine jeweller. Cassius could feel the traces of a magical signature when he touched the stones. It was what was responsible for the light show.

Solan had to have and give the best of everything. He'd been unhappy at not being able to have control over his own wedding, but he hadn't complained. He'd conceded in the minor fights but had made sure he'd won the major battles. The Ministry had wanted to have the wedding at Hogwarts because of the meaning and symbolism, but the last thing Solan wanted to do was to set foot on the school grounds. After three days of negotiations, the Ministry allowed him to choose the place for their wedding, if he and Angelina agreed to have the reception at the Ministry ballroom.

Solan had chosen a sixteenth century castle in Wiltshire. His parents had been married in the chapel, amidst beautiful stained glass renditions of the feats of Merlin and Morgana. The castle had been built by Muggles and once the stained glass windows had shown renditions of the feats of Christ. The witch who bought the castle was not a believer and had been quite offended by Muggle religion, hence the change in the chapel. It was she who had planted the large garden of wild singing roses and smiling pansies. When they were young Solan had shown Cassius photographs from his parents wedding day. Even as a boy not trained in aesthetics, Cassius had marvelled at the beauty of the castle and its garden.

It was the right place. When Solan took him to the castle for the first time, Cassius' mind had been finally put at ease. When he'd seen Solan after the Quidditch ball, Cassius had dogged him with questions. Did he know what he was doing? Was he sure this was right course of action? Did he remember that Angelina was a Gryffindor and a rival player? Was he doing this out of some need to be respectable? He might have been famous and admired, but as a Slytherin he was respected by few.

Solan had been hurt by the mere thought. "I love her," he'd told Cassius quietly. Cassius had stopped asking the questions but he still had his doubts. They'd been erased when he saw the castle. He couldn't explain what it was about the place that put him at ease. It might have been Solan's face. It was no longer cold and shadowed, but open and full of emotion. It was a moment of pure honesty and Cassius had no choice but to believe.

-&-

There was no need to panic, Alicia told herself as she quickly went down the stairs. It was all a misunderstanding or something of the sort because there was no possible way Angelina was missing. She was getting married. She wouldn't have run away and she certainly couldn't have been kidnapped because the security measures the Ministry had taken had put even the most seasoned Aurors at ease. It was possible Alicia had been too distracted by her dress to notice Angelina leave. The dress demanded one's total attention. And the open window? It was possible Angelina had needed some air. There was no reason for Alicia to panic, absolutely none.

Coming to the first floor, Alicia was met by Katie Bell, Oliver Wood, and Angelina's sister, Anabelle. They looked at her expectantly.

"How's the bride to be?" Katie asked.

Alicia stared at her, unsure of what to say. "I can't find her," she replied, instantly regretting she'd spoken.

"Did you say you can't find her?" Oliver asked, eyes widening.

"I went to check on her and she wasn't in the room. The window was open."

Oliver, Katie and Anabelle were running up the stairs before Alicia finished speaking. Cassius Warrington was on the second landing and raised his brow when he saw them.

"What's going on?" he asked, grabbing Alicia.

Alicia glanced at the thick fingers encircling her arm. Cassius released her but did not look apologetic. For that reason, Alicia thought of keeping silent, but thought better of it. Old rivalries were supposed to be put to rest today.

"I think Angelina's missing," she replied. "Or she could've wandered off."

"On her wedding day?" Cassius started up the stairs.

"Angelina wouldn't run off," Alicia said, following him.

Cassius stopped abruptly and turned to her. Alicia shrank and looked away, unnerved by his intense gaze. She felt as if she was being undressed and all of her was being revealed against her will. Cassius was much like Solan. They were mirrors. One look and they knew the unspeakable truth and were all too willing to tell it.

"I didn't say she'd run off, but you think she has. Why?"

Alicia shrugged. "She seemed nervous."

"Of course she did. She's getting married and there are added pressures most brides don't have to face."

"That's an understatement," Alicia murmured.

When she looked up at Cassius, he was smiling. He was quite handsome, she realized. His almost white blonde hair was like a halo in the harsh light of the midday sun. His pale green eyes were so much like a cat's and had an edge of mischief now that he was smiling. He doesn't look anything like a sloth, Alicia thought. It must have been because he no longer had that sleepy, detached look. Quite handsome, Alicia decided.

"I'm sure she didn't run off," Cassius said. "She wouldn't." He touched her arm gently.

Alicia eyes went to his hands. The fingers were not thick as she'd earlier thought. They were strong. Noticing her gaze, Cassius took his hand away. There was a fleeting moment, Alicia wished he hadn't.

"I guess you're right," she said. "She loves Solan. She could barely contain herself yesterday. She said it was the right thing to do, for everyone."

Cassius gave a slight nod of agreement.

"She's gone," Oliver announced, coming down the stairs. "We looked in all the rooms. She's gone."

"We can't jump to any conclusions," Katie said quickly.

"So what are we going to do?" Anabelle asked. "We've got to tell the Aurors. They'll know what to do."

Oliver pulled out his pocket watch. "The wedding supposed to start in fifteen minutes," he said. "That's the only thing we can do."

"Solan will know something's wrong," Cassius thought aloud. "He'll notice. I'm going to have to do damage control."

"I hope the family doesn't notice anything," Anabelle said worriedly. "I'll sit with them. My mum will surely make a scene if she thinks something's going on."

The group disbanded on the first floor. Anabelle and Oliver went into the chapel, while Katie went outside to speak with one of the Aurors stationed near the doors. Alicia waited in the foyer, nervously biting her nails. She stopped when she realized she was ruining her nail varnish. Angelina would surely notice when she was found and chastise her.

"Can't look any worse with this on," she thought, looking down at the dress.

Alicia's anxiety increased as the minutes went by. Aurors continually passed her, their cool expressions dissolving as they went. When Alicia glanced at her watch, ten minutes had passed. She began to bite her nails again. She began to gnaw at them when she saw Cassius coming down the center aisle of the chapel, unable to hide his worried expression.

"I don't want to hear this," Alicia said as he approached.

"I can't find Solan," he said. "He was supposed to be in there, but no one's seen him."

Alicia shook her in disbelief. "No."

"I told an Auror. They're looking for him too. That was about five minutes ago. They should've looked over the place by now. We should know something soon."

Soon came only seconds later. A young Auror came down the stairs behind them, her face pale. Alicia recognized her from the MLE office. Siobhan McGuinty, if she remembered correctly.

"Siobhan, have you found either of them?" Alicia asked.

The Auror touched the mirror she'd likely been using to communicate with her co-workers only minutes earlier. She pursed his lips. "We can't find them. Auror Shacklebolt has a sample of their wand and magical signatures. He tried a locating spell. They're not here."

Alicia stifled her cry by putting her hand over her mouth.

"This is no accident," Cassius said. "They wouldn't have run off."

Alicia nodded in agreement, trying her best not to cry.

"How the hell could you have let this happen? I thought you all had this place warded and secure," Cassius hissed.

Siobhan mouth's open, a retort about to fall when she glanced past Cassius. Her eyes widened. She reached for her wand, but it was too late.

Later on, the only thing Cassius and Alicia would remember was how blindingly bright the room suddenly became.

The sound of the explosion was heard for miles.


	3. Bride

**3. Bride**

She'd only nipped out for a bit because she'd needed some air. When she'd told the Muggle barmaid this, the woman had arched her brow sceptically, patted Angelina on the shoulder and asked if she needed something stronger than a soft drink. Angelina bit her tongue to prevent herself from telling the woman to bugger off. Despite what the Muggle or anyone else in the pub thought she was going back to the castle. She was going to marry Solan and take up her mantle as Hope of the Wizarding World, or however else the Minister for Magic had phrased it. She couldn't not do it. Angelina had been waiting impatiently for this day ever since Solan had proposed.

He took her on a canal ride in Venice. When he'd announced the trip she didn't think anything of it. Solan was a romantic, a fact he staunchly denied. Their first date he'd rented the London Botanical Gardens, where they'd had dinner surrounded by thousands of fairy lights. After eating he'd walked her around the garden, naming all the plants and whispering their secrets in her ear. The Unicorn Orchid, he'd whispered, was a known aphrodisiac. In the days of the Founders and for centuries after it was on wedding nights to make sure a virgin bride took a liking to her husband. "I'm sure it wouldn't need with us," he'd said with an endearingly arrogant smirk. He'd implied other things and Angelina had welcomed each one as a possibility she wouldn't have minded coming to fruition.

The date at the Garden was only the beginning. There had been the evening on the beach, the mini-break in Paris, the trip to Brazil and so forth. Every time Angelina saw Solan he had a gift, be it a simple rose or an expensive piece of jewellery. Her family had grown to love him, especially her sister, Anabelle, as he treated them in the same respect. Anabelle was building an enviable jewellery collection due to Solan's generosity.

So when Solan asked her to go to Venice with him, Angelina thought nothing of it. When he handed her a large velvet box in the gondola the familiar words "You shouldn't have" were ready to fall from her lips as she wondered what dress or robe this new piece would match.

It was a choker made of white-gold, fashioned to look like a series of intertwining vines. At the center of it was an oval sapphire. Angelina could tell that the choker was old, likely a family heirloom. The previous owner had likely been Solan's mother. When Angelina had visited Solan's home for the first time, she immediately took to the still portrait of the beautiful woman with jet black hair and Solan's ice-blue eyes. Her smile had been gentle and warm. Looking at the portrait, Angelina felt approved of, as if she'd passed some test.

"If I asked you to marry me, what would you say?" Solan asked.

"What do you think I'd say?"

"I know what I'd want you to say."

"You've got your answer then."

He grinned. "I suppose now you'll have something old and blue to wear."

She'd made her decision then and Angelina wasn't about to change her mind. If she'd had her way she and Solan would've been married in a private ceremony with only their family close and friends in attendance. That couldn't be arranged, but it was a small thing in the face of the fact that after today she'd be Solan's wife.

She always smiled when she thought of their future. Unlike most brides Angelina was weary of the wedding and enamoured with her upcoming marriage. Due to the involvement of second and third parties, her wedding had become something unpleasant she had to endure.

Sitting in the bride's room in a very expensive and heavy wedding gown Angelina had become disgusted with herself. She should've been stronger and opposed the Ministry's influence and told them to find some other mascots. It was unfair that she was dreading the upcoming hours. She'd wanted nothing more than to leave, just for a few minutes. In typical Gryffindor fashion she'd acted without thinking and had done just that.

Angelina had manoeuvred her way through the small window, no small feat, and had run far away from the castle wards before Apparating to the Muggle village a few miles away. Word had quickly spread through the village about the strange woman wearing a wedding gown and a fortune's worth of diamonds and precious stones. A few minutes after Angelina had come to the pub more people began to stop in only to stare at her in between pints.

Taking a final sip of the flat soft drink, Angelina took out her watch. She had seven minutes before she had to make it back to castle. She was slated to walk down the aisle at ten o'clock and damn anyone who prevented her from doing so. She was going to marry Solan and become a political pawn because the Wizarding World needed her to be that. When she'd joined Dumbledore's Army again, she'd promised to fight for her and the rest of the Wizarding World's happiness. Angelina refused to run from her promise or her responsibility. Her wedding might be a disaster not of her own making but it was her wedding none the less. She hoped Alicia would one day forgive her for the dress. Gryffindor stubbornness could only do so much against an entire government.

Angelina was taken out of her thoughts as the noise in the pub increased. The patrons were no longer whispering but were openly discussing her. In the back corner a heated debate had begun as to whether she was a gilted or runaway bride. She looked too calm to be a gilted bride, claimed one man. That only proved she was good at hiding her emotions, his opponent said. She'd been left at the altar and was likely too shocked to react.

"Is it really hard to believe that I just needed some air?" she muttered.

"Yes, it's quite hard."

She hadn't noticed the Auror enter the pub. Angelina's posture slackened and her shoulders drooped as she took on the air of a recalcitrant child about to be punished. From the Auror's look of annoyance it certainly felt as if he was going to ask her to turn out her hand for a paddling.

The Auror took a seat across from her. The pub became quiet, anticipating a scene that would satisfy their need for dramatics.

"I really did need some air," Angelina told the Auror. "Who wouldn't with that four ring circus their calling my wedding?"

"Ms. Johnson, you have a duty to perform."

Duty. Angelina mouthed the words and gave the man a scornful glare. He looked like the type to use the word on a regular basis. Unlike most of the Aurors he looked comfortable in the newly issued uniforms: dark trousers, white shirt and a high-necked frock coat. His posture was perfect, his limbs straight and rigid. Angelina noticed that his nails were manicured and clean. He'd been born into a wealthy family where he'd learned the importance of grooming and appearance. The idea of trimming his nails and wearing the proper dress to an event was as much as a part of his duty as was "to honour, love, and fight" as the Auror motto went.

"What's your name?" Angelina asked. Taking a closer look at him she already knew his lineage. The smooth dark skin, high cheekbones and slanted eyes gave it away.

"Auror Dashiell Zabini," he replied stiffly.

"Any relation—"

"A second cousin," he interrupted, sitting even straighter. "He is someone I would rather not discuss. Our society being so small it is unavoidable that most families will have relations they will want forgotten because of their behaviour. The rest of the family should not be judged because of the foolishness of one person."

"I wasn't judging you. There are members of my own family that have been erased from our Book of Names. It's unfortunate."

"They made their choices," Zabini said. He continued in a gentler tone: "But you are right. It is unfortunate. It shouldn't have been that way."

Angelina nodded solemnly, focusing on her varnished nails to keep from thinking about her cousins, aunt and uncle locked away in Azkaban. The Dementors had been replaced with new guards, the Tormentors, hybrids of a Dementor and a Boggart. On the scale of human life, the Tormentors were on par with the simplest of animals, driven only by the need for food. As well as causing the prisoners to relive their worst memories, the Tormentors could transfigure into their worst fears. When the Dementors had guarded Azkaban, some prisoners escaped them through Occlumency and other methods of mind control. There was no escape with the Tormentors. One could guard the mind but the body was always vulnerable.

"I'm afraid our conversation has taken a turn for the sombre," Zabini said. "You shouldn't be frowning on such a happy occasion."

"I started frowning the moment I saw my best friend wearing a dress that made her look like a mer-person."

Zabini laughed, rising. "You shall have one more minute. If you're not outside by then I'll forcibly remove you from this place." With that he left the pub with a purposeful stride.

Angelina didn't wait for the minute to end. Hiking up the heavy skirt of her dress, she left the pub without so much as a nod to the patrons. Zabini was not outside the pub. Angelina looked up and down the narrow village street, seeing no sign of him.

"Yes, I've found her. She'll be there on time. There is no need to worry." Zabini's voice carried from the alley between the pub and a garage. "Everything will go as scheduled. Goodbye."

When the Auror stepped out the alley, Angelina shot him a look of annoyance. As the dutiful Auror of course he had to report to his superiors. She would have preferred he hadn't. The Ministry had caused her enough grief these past few months and she'd wanted to return the favour. She'd intended to arrive at the castle with a casual air in the hopes of angering the Minister.

Seeing her Zabini quickly tucked his mirror into his coat pocket, but it didn't escape Angelina's notice. It was the size of most communication mirrors issued by the MLE. However it couldn't have been the standard issue, as MLE mirrors were made from steel and were quite plain. The mirror Zabini had was gold and had an ornate etching on the back.

"Who were you talking to?" Angelina asked. Her wand was under the layers of her skirt, strapped to her thigh, putting her at a disadvantage.

"My superiors," he replied. "They are happy you've been found and are anxious to have you back at the castle. We should leave now. I'll Apparate us both."

Angelina took a few steps back before Zabini could take her arm. "Who were you really talking to? I saw the mirror. Aurors don't have mirrors like that."

Zabini gave her an appraising look, wondering how to proceed. "I suggest you get back to your wedding, Ms. Johnson."

"Why? Has something happened? What's going on?"

Anxious and full of courage, Angelina grabbed Zabini by his arms, shaking him, demanding answers to her questions. Zabini tried to push her away, shouting at her to stop. Enraged, Angelina shook him harder. Anger was quickly replaced by confusion when she felt the familiar tug at her navel. The journey was not long and within a few seconds Angelina fell face forward onto a cold hard surface. Spots of colour danced before her eyes and blood began to spurt from her nose. Eyes closed, she could hear Dashiell moving beside her, standing up. His movements were quick and she didn't have to open her eyes to know his wand was poised over her head. Angelina was too disoriented to panic.


	4. Groom

**4. Groom**

He'd done the right thing.

Solan Montague snorted at the thought, finishing another glass of Firewhiskey, dated 1858. It was an old vintage that tasted like vinegar. It burned all the way down and made him hyperaware of his surroundings. He'd wanted to drown in an alcohol induced delirium but instead found himself noticing the different shades of colour in the fire and reliving his memories with a clarity he'd never experienced before. The memories were bitter potions, and yet he kept on drinking.

It had been four days since that awful day, his almost wedding day. He'd woken up in the morning a little hung-over from the Groom's Feast, but grinning stupidly, anticipating the day to come. He and Cassius had breakfasted before Apparating to the castle where they were met by the Ministry liaison, Auror Shacklebolt, and the wedding coordinator. There'd been a long debriefing. To everything that was said Montague nodded absently while imaging Angelina walking down the aisle.

She'd look more beautiful than she had at the Quidditch Ball all those years ago, most likely. That night, while everyone else danced and chatted up each other, Solan hung back, situating himself against the wall. He'd watched Angelina all night, admiring her. The years since Hogwarts had given Angelina beauty she'd never possessed at Hogwarts. She'd walked with confidence and daring, unconcerned about her height, uncaring of what anyone might think of her, good or ill. Like so many modern women she'd become less modest and embraced Muggle fashion. She'd worn a simple white Grecian-style gown, showing off her arms and cleavage. Most had looked at her with a mixture of lust, envy, and admiration, but there were also those from the Ministry who stared at her calculatingly. Here is our model for the new era, they must have thought. A pureblood witch willing to wear Muggle fashion. Ten years earlier it would have caused a stir, but now it was just the thing.

Solan didn't think he would be caught in the Ministry's machinations then. He'd had one objective in mind: attain what he'd desired and loved for years. Despite what Angelina would sometimes tell him, Solan didn't think himself a romantic. When he'd first realized he was in love with her, he'd been shocked, horrified, and tried to find a cure. He doubted his love, as it could hardly be real when he'd spoken only a few words to her and on those occasions he'd insulted her in such a way that sent her friends rushing to her defence. In those instances, she would skip her eyes over him, as if he were something insignificant, smile and walk away. It had the uncanny result of making him respect her even more.

There weren't many people Solan respected. He liked, admired, and felt a fondness for many people, but rarely were those feelings accompanied by respect. With that as the starting emotion it was no wonder he fell in love with her. When he'd returned to Hogwarts from Christmas hols in seventh year, Solan noticed that his eyes lingered on Angelina longer than usual and that he could pick out her laugh or the sound of her voice in a crowd. She seemed prettier to him, even when she was screaming at everyone.

A simple crush, he reasoned. He believed so until the incident with the Weasley Twins. At times unable to make complete thoughts and unable to articulate himself, Solan was prone to his emotions during the year of his recovery. He felt too much. When Angelina came to his mind, the feeling of longing and wonder were intense. He prayed for numbness, uncomfortable with the realization that he felt deeply and strongly like everyone else. He hated his love for her. It was too much, too obscene, too prone to turn into obsession. Solan railed against himself for months and then finally woke up one morning and decided to give in. He was tired. Doing anything else was pointless. Solan decided to pursue Angelina when they met again and let his feelings run their course.

A part of him believed their relationship would come to nothing. Angelina would not live up the image he'd created in his mind and if she even deigned to think of him as anything more than a dirty Slytherin, she would never consent to a relationship. She surprised him, as she always did, when she agreed to a date. She surprised him even more when she agreed to marry him.

The months after the proposal had been some of the happiest of his life. He'd let down his guard, smiled a little more and repeatedly made a fool of himself with public displays of sentiment. All because he was so sure of the future. He should've remembered that every bout of happiness in his life had been fleeting, always tainted by the end.

The thought had come to him when he'd come into the anteroom of his suite at the castle and found Terrence Higgs smirking at him. He hadn't seen his old schoolmate in a year. Before the war began, Terrence had been one of the first to mutter "mudblood" under his breath. He found the entire episode with the Heir of Slytherin quite funny. While most had joined the Inquisitorial Squad for reasons to do with House pride and ambition, Terrence had joined because of his heritage. He was as much preoccupied with bringing down Harry Potter as Draco Malfoy. However, as soon as the war began Terrence disappeared, too much of a coward to fight. When the dust settled, Terrence reappeared, visiting his old friends with pamphlets and manifestos, begging for money to begin an organization "for the continued betterment and success of the original bloodlines." Terrence garnered some support, but Solan doubted if a revolution was to come that Terrence would be its instigator.

"You look very nice," he told Solan, who now wore his wedding clothes. "Very respectable."

"How did you get in here?" Solan made no secret that he was reaching for his wand. He did so slowly, making sure Terrence was watching him.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Terrence said. "I'm only here to talk, to share some information."

"About?"

"Your wedding. It can't happen."

"Why not?" Solan took up a duelling stance.

"It's clear what the Ministry is trying to do, trying to repair everything with this farce."

"If it's such a farce then why are you here?"

Terrence's expression hardened. "The public is notoriously stupid and believing. They want this to happen. They think it's right."

"It is from where I'm standing. Everyone's tired. Some of us didn't have the privilege of running to an estate in the tropics to have our every whim catered to during the war."

"I had no choice!" Terrence shouted, baring his teeth. It was a sore subject. For years now he had to continually defend himself against the accusations of cowardice. "My parents forced me to go."

Solan snorted. "You could've found your way back. There was nothing keeping you there." Solan folded his arms, sure Terrence was no physical threat to him.

"You didn't fight either if I recall correctly."

"Of course, I didn't. I didn't believe in the Dark Lord's ramblings. I couldn't become an Auror because I was ill, and the militias didn't want a Slytherin joining their ranks. I stayed, though, which is more than I can say for you. I'm doing my part now. Making up for lost time, you might say."

Terrence shook his head angrily. "This wedding is not going to happen."

"How do you propose to stop me?"

Terrence smirked. "Johnson. She'll be killed if you don't walk away."

Aware of the Aurors outside the room and all over the castle grounds, Solan's fear was delayed. "She'd probably kill you first. They didn't give her a Guild of Morgana because she sat on her arse during the war."

"I didn't say _I_ was going to kill her. You don't really think I'm in this alone, do you? I have allies, powerful people who want the same things I do. I didn't get in here by myself." Terrence was smiling now as Solan's face showed signs of discomfort.

"You're lying."

"Are you willing to take that chance? Are you willing to risk her life? On second thought, I rather you did take the chance. I wouldn't mind seeing the bitch dead."

"Still fuming over the Quidditch Cup?"

"I guess fucking her was all it took for you to put it behind you."

Solan pointed his wand at Terrence, gripping it tightly. "One more word and you won't like what I do to you."

Terrence laughed, throwing his head back. "Don't make threats, Montague. I'm the only one in this room with the power and the right to do that." His features contorted, becoming savage. "Now listen. If you don't walk away right now I'll make sure her death is long and drawn out. I'll make it as painful as possible. You won't even recognize her when you get her body back. She won't look like the same woman who likes to dance for you."

"What do you know of that?" Solan berated himself for asking. Now Terrence knew he was becoming fearful.

Lowering his eyes, Terrence smirked once more. "Her favourite colour is purple, not red or gold like everyone thinks. She has these beautiful lace underthings. She dances for you in them. I bet you feel like the luckiest man on earth when she does that. How many men would kill to be in your position? Thousands I'd say." Seeing Solan's perplexed and angry face, Terrence laughed. "You want to know how I know these things? It's not for me to tell. It's only important that you know I can get within a hair's breath of her and there's nothing you can do about it. If you don't want me anywhere near Johnson you'll do as I say."

"I'll become the most hated man in Britain," Solan realized aloud. "Just another dirty Slytherin who goes back on his word. Things won't get any better for us if I do what you want."

"I'm counting on that. There are those of us who would rather stick their heads in the sand and hope for the best. You'll show them how wrong they are." Terrence started walking towards the door. With one hand on the knob he turned to Solan. "I don't have to tell you that if you breathe a word of this to anyone Johnson will be found with all her limbs missing." He gave a little chuckle before leaving.

Infinitely numb, Solan waited a few minutes before leaving the castle, careful to avoid anyone seeing him, and Apparated home. He'd stayed for a few minutes before deciding to portkey to his villa in Genoa, Italy. There, he immediately went to the cellar and brought up the finest wines, whiskies and vodka. His life was ending, a drink seemed appropriate.

The sun had risen twice since Solan had come to Genoa. Anytime he got close to sobriety he quickly refilled his glass and tried to fall asleep. He didn't like wondering if Angelina was okay, if she hated him. Knowing Angelina she was screaming and throwing things in between bouts of crying. She likely wanted him dead. She probably would kill him if she got the chance. Hunt him down like a Death Eater and make him wish she was still that girl at Hogwarts who knew nothing more than what they taught in textbooks.

It had become dark again. Solan's lids began to droop but he fought to stay awake. Just another drink to make sure he slept deeply to prevent any dreams. Vodka this time. It soothed him, clouded his mind and made his tongue heavy. Solan's head fell against the arm of his chair. He hadn't slept in a bed since he'd arrived. He hadn't left the sitting room, preferring the dark atmosphere rather than the warm, bright colours of the upstairs bedrooms.

"Tomorrow, I'll go back," Solan slurred aloud. "She'll probably kill me. Every right." He shut his eyes tightly, willing sleep. That was as far as he was willing to think about the whole thing.

When Solan opened his eyes the room was brighter, the flames from the fire were higher and the candles had been lit. Not the house elf, Solan thought. He'd banned Effy from the room and he hadn't seen the elf since he'd arrived. He was still slightly drunk. The effects of the liquor dampened his fear. Solan sat up, looking around the room. Kingsley Shacklebolt was seated in the sofa opposite him with an expression Solan couldn't see behind.

"So you've come out of your stupor," Shacklebolt said. "We've been searching for you days, believing you were evading us, but you've been here the whole time, drinking."

"I had time to fill."

Shacklebolt's stare was hard. "I'm here to take you into the Ministry's custody. Do you know why?"

Solan frowned. "You're taking me into custody because I didn't show up at my own wedding? I know the Ministry is thinking of bringing back some of the old laws, but this seems a bit ridiculous, don't you think?"

"According to the information we've gathered it looks like you did a little more than run out on your wedding."

Solan struggled to understand. He sat forward, concentrating on Shacklebolt's voice. "What does the Ministry think I did?"

"They think you're responsible for the death of about twenty people, including five Aurors. Everyone who isn't dead has been injured. There's also the fact that your fiancée is missing."

"I don't understand." It was too far from what he'd imagined in the sober minutes. It didn't make sense.

"Are you going to come quietly or is something unfortunate going to happen? I doubt you could do much harm the state you're in."

"I also don't have my wand."

"Where is it?" Shacklebolt asked, rising.

Solan shrugged. "I lost sight of it around the Polish vodka blend."

Shacklebolt _Acciod_ the wand and tucked it in his coat pocket. "It's best we get to the Ministry as quickly as possible. Every second we delay the worse it looks for you."

"You sound like you believe I'm innocent."

Shacklebolt smiled uneasily. "I've been an Auror long enough to know that rarely is something what it looks like. The question is whether or not we choose to believe in the appearance."

-&-

The interrogation room was small, four times the size of the average cabinet. Now sober, Solan stared at the grey stone walls feeling a multitude of eyes on him. They were watching him, trying to look for signs of guilt. They wouldn't believe him innocent until there was unequivocal proof, and even then they'd still be suspicious. The joy of being a Slytherin.

He was going to go mad. Shacklebolt had said nothing more after they'd left the house. Solan had been left to wonder about the small bits of information he'd been given. Something had happened at the castle. Something Terrence had to have known about. His mission must have been to get Solan to leave, therefore leading everyone to suspect him of wrongdoing. He'd been set up. The Ministry would crucify him and more than likely he'd become a martyr for the people who had Terrence's sympathy. Terrence or whoever he was working with must've known the fallout would be catastrophic. Being blamed for walking out on his wedding was one thing, being accused of terrorism was another. It wouldn't take long for Marshall Law to be declared and every Slytherin, anyone with ties to them or Death Eaters to be rounded up and taken to Azkaban. A cleansing.

Where did Angelina being missing fit into all of it? It would have been better for them to kill her, create a symbol out of her so the Ministry would have no qualms about viciously persecuting him. The only logical explanation was that she'd been kidnapped. They wouldn't ransom her. They'd give her body back when it was most opportune.

Bile rose in Solan's throat and he struggled to control himself. He was glad when the door opened and Shacklebolt, as well as the Minister for Magic and a man he didn't recognize entered the room. He had no choice but to keep it together.

Scrimgeour remained by the now closed door. Shacklebolt stood beside him, watching the third man intently. It was clear Shacklebolt felt no amicable feelings for him.

The man was short and plump. His face was round and there were dark circles around his brown eyes even though he looked well-rested. He sat at the small table in the middle of the room, licking his thin lips every now and then. He placed a stack of parchment in front of him as well as a Quick Quill.

"Mr. Montague, would you please have a seat." The man's voice was low and uneven and sounded as if he was attempting to speak while underwater.

Solan did as he was told. He had no advantage and wouldn't until he had more information.

"I am Lanthius Abbot. I'll be asking you a series of questions, just to get some things cleared up." In attempt to appear friendly Abbot smiled. Solan felt no warmth from him.

Abbot activated the Quick Quill and made a few documenting remarks. "Can you describe the day of July third, the intended day of your wedding, in detail, from beginning to end?" he asked.

_Might as well tell the truth_, Solan thought. _I have nothing to lose now_.

As he described the day he watched for Abbott's reaction. The man nodded once in a while and stared back at him with an executioner's smile. He gasped and gave a start when Solan mentioned Terrence's name.

"So you saw Mr. Higgs," he interrupted.

"He threatened to kill Angelina if I married her. He thought it was a farce. He told me enough to prove that wouldn't be a problem even with the measures the Ministry had in place."

"How so?"

"He claimed there are people in the Ministry who would help him."

"And you believed him?"

"He got into the castle, didn't he? Terrence is a second-rate wizard. He couldn't have got past the Aurors and the wards without inside help."

Abbot leaned back in his chair, staring at Solan speculatively.

"You don't believe me."

"I didn't say that, Mr. Montague."

"You didn't have to."

"What happened after Mr. Higgs threatened you?"

"I left the castle, Apparated home, then flooed to Genoa, where I nearly drank myself to death before Auror Shacklebolt found me."

"Why didn't you tell anyone about Mr. Higgs' threats?"

"I didn't want Angelina to die. Terrence said he'd kill her if the Ministry knew anything about his plans. I thought then that he was intent on everything going according to script he planned. I realize now that he had something bigger in mind."

"How so?"

"Well, right now you don't believe anything I say. You're likely thinking of throwing me in Azkaban right after you make huge event out of my trial and persecution, angering every Slytherin and their sympathizers. You now know that something is building and in your quest to find out what it is you'll go to every Slytherin's house, every person who had ties to a Death Eater, every Pureblood. You'll interrogate them, make them feel even more oppressed and they'll run to Terrence or whoever he's working with. Maybe they'll make a new Dark Lord, maybe they won't be as effective as the Death Eaters, but they will cause a lot of trouble for you."

"Sounds like a something from a novel," Abbot said.

"More like a perfect plan," Shacklebolt disagreed. "Higgs has wanted a war since he reappeared. He looks like he might get one the way things are going."

"What do you mean?" Solan asked.

"The _Prophet_ is calling it the Whitmore Massacre, after the castle. The public is afraid and suspicious. You can't imagine what the professors at Hogwarts are going through. Separate classes are being held for the Slytherins. It won't be long before we have another civil war on our hands."

"This might be true, but it could be fancy as well," Scrimgeour finally spoke. "I need guarantees." From his coat pocket he took a vial containing a clear liquid and placed it on the table. Veritaserum.

"Are you willing?" Abbot asked Solan.

"Of course," he answered quickly.

Only a small dose was needed and was administered with an eyedropper. The liquid made Solan's tongue feel heavy. Instinctively he swallowed. He didn't expect the burning sensation in his throat.

"I'm going to ask some preliminary questions, just to make sure the potion is working," Abbott said.

Solan ignored him. He felt hot and his vision was blurring. The burning in his throat had increased. He felt his airway tighten. Solan tried to gasp for breath, holding his throat. Panicking he rose from his seat and staggered backwards, hitting the wall. Shacklebolt rushed to his side, while the Minister left the room to call for help.

He was dying, Solan realized. His laugh came out as a wheezing sound.

-&-

Solan hated hospitals. He was dismayed when he woke up in one. Not St. Mungo's by the look of the room. The year after he'd been locked in the Vanishing Cabinet he'd been in and out of St. Mungo's every week to see a new healer or specialist. Each room at St. Mungo's was painted a sterile white and all contained windows with a view of Muggle London. This room had no windows and was made even darker by the grey stone walls. He was still at the MLE headquarters, likely down in the cellars, where the armoury, archives and apparently an infirmary were kept.

He'd awakened to find that his arms were bound to the railings of the bed with Mortimer's Rope. It allowed him to move his arms freely, but kept him in the confines of the bed. One word and it could be used to pull him arms out of their sockets. The way his healer looked at him, he knew she was waiting for him to do something to make her utter it.

After three long bouts of sleep, Kingsley came to see him. Solan eyed him wearily as he took a seat beside the bed. It didn't look like he had good news.

"I really do hope you've brought me something to entertain myself with. I've been climbing up the walls in here. I'm not allowed any sort of contact with the outside world," he said petulantly, having nothing better to say.

Kingsley produced four shrunken books from his pocket and spelled them to normal size.

"Thank you," Solan replied, grateful. "I guess I'm going to be spending enough time in here to read all of these."

Kingsley nodded. "That may well be the case. It's almost been a week since the Massacre. Ms. Johnson hasn't been found and things are still not as clear as they should be."

"How so? Wait, before you answer that question, what exactly happened to me? I tried asking that cow of a healer, but she's refused to speak to me."

"You're in a very bad way, Mr. Montague," Shacklebolt replied. "It seems you've ingested Averitaserum." Seeing Solan's questioning look he went on to explain. "There's no known counter-serum or spell for Veritaserum, nothing that can prevent the potion from working. However, some very clever hags in Knockturn Alley developed a potion during the trials after the war. A potion that creates a mild poison when it comes in contact with Veritaserum. The person gets sick and falls unconscious. By the time they wake up the Veritaserum has been digested and has lost its potency. By the time the Ministry found out about the potion they'd had to release about a hundred suspects for lack of evidence."

"I've never heard of this Averitaserum. The last time I was in Knockturn Alley my parents took me to some unregistered healer to try and speed my recovery from my accident."

"You don't have to go to Knockturn Alley to get it if you have the proper connections."

"Which I don't," Solan said snidely.

Shacklebolt was looking at him with an intense surveying stare. "From what the healers say it's most likely you ingested the potion on the day of the wedding. Either you took it knowing what was to come or you were given it. Did you eat or drink anything that was prepared by someone else?"

"My breakfast was prepared by my house elves and I was brought tea by a Ministry aide in my room at the castle."

Shacklebolt nodded. "What did the aide look like?"

Solan gave a description, watching the Auror intently. He wasn't sure if he was being humoured or if Shacklebolt was taking him seriously. Solan chose to believe the latter. Shacklebolt seemed the type to check all angles, just in case.

"Is someone going to come to interrogate me again?" Solan asked, breaking the silence they'd lapsed into.

Shacklebolt shook his head. "It's doubtful. If someone else comes to see you it will be either to try or release you. Don't count on the former."

"I'm sure the Averitaserum is out of my system. Couldn't we try Veritaserum again?"

"It doesn't work like that. Averitaserum becomes a part of your body's chemistry after ingested. Apparently it has the ability to continually replicate itself. Another dose of Veritaserum and you'd be poisoned again."

Solan slammed his fists into the bed. "I know you all think that I'm trying to keep something from you, but I assure you that's not what's happening. Somebody's trying to keep you from verifying what I've told you. They want to make sure I go to Azkaban and have my soul and sanity sucked out of me. Have you interrogated Terrence? I doubt you'd need Veritaserum to make him confess. That one's a coward."

"Higgs is dead," Shacklebolt replied casually, watching Solan. "He was the one that perpetrated the Massacre. Apparently it was a suicide mission."

"That's impossible. Higgs is a coward. He can't do anything unless…." Solan trailed off, realization dawning.

"Unless what?"

"Unless someone tells him to," he finished. "You learn a lot about someone when you're on a Quidditch team with them. Higgs was a good player but he never deviated from the plays. He always did what I told him to do. Angelina noticed that. When he was setting up for a particular play she'd do something to throw him off because she knew he'd couldn't recover fast enough." He smiled remembering when Angelina had told him that. She'd been so smug about it.

A knife was cutting into his chest. When he'd woken up he'd been disappointed to find himself alive. He didn't want to go through the grief of losing Angelina. He would've preferred oblivion or whatever the afterlife offered rather than to be alive and vulnerable.

"You still believe Higgs had to be working with someone?"

Solan nodded. "Even though Terrence needs someone to direct him, when it comes to actually doing things instead of speaking rhetoric, I doubt he'd go so far as to go on a suicide mission. Terrence is a true Slytherin. He'd abandon any belief if it meant his life would no longer be in danger. After the incident with Umbridge at Hogwarts he tried to ingratiate himself with the other Houses. He was very aware of the position he was in. He never made his views public out of fear. Terrence doesn't have the heart to follow through no matter how much be believes. I do think whoever he's working with does."

Shacklebolt nodded, rising. "I'll take what you've told me into consideration, but I can't promise anything. We'll see what I can prove."

Solan nodded, watching the man leave. His whole life and the future state of the Wizarding World were dependent on what Shacklebolt could prove. From the echoes of the man's heavy steps behind door, Shacklebolt had to know that as well.


End file.
